


Character Bleed

by nhpw



Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: Angst, Character Bleed, Established Relationship, Fluff, Humiliation, M/M, Multi, Polyamory, Referenced BDSM, Season/Series 11, Season/Series 11 Speculation, Season/Series 11 Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-15
Updated: 2016-02-15
Packaged: 2018-05-20 22:19:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,314
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6027469
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nhpw/pseuds/nhpw
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Misha has some trouble breaking character. After a pep-talk from Vicki, Jensen talks him through it.</p><p>(Mad crazy Season 11 spoilers. I'm not kidding; they're not sugarcoated or anything, they're just there. Don't say I didn't warn you!)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Character Bleed

**Author's Note:**

> Casifer (Cassifer? Luci-cas? Lucas? IDEK?) fascinates me. Misha playing Lucifer fascinates me. Everything about this plot fascinates me, so I'm likely to explore it a lot more both in Destiel and Cockles formats in the coming weeks and months.
> 
> This little snippet is just a theoretical moment in time. Short and sweet with just a tinge of a warning for referenced past experience with kink/humiliation/sadism/BDSM (Misha), though nothing too explicit.

“I’m sorry. He did _what_?”

The first person Jensen called after The Incident wasn’t his wife or Jared or even his therapist.

It was his boyfriend’s wife.

And there was so much fucked-uppedness wrapped up in those words - _boyfriend’s wife_ \- that Jensen’s head just wouldn’t stop spinning because if he even _tried_ to stop it, all of his mental synapses would explode and he’d surely die. Or at least be brain-dead. He wasn’t sure. He wasn’t sure of much of anything anymore. Fuck, if the next person to knock on his trailer door told him they were shutting down production for the day because the set had been destroyed by a giant rampaging purple elephant, that would be just as plausible as the context in which he currently existed.

“J?”

He let out his breath from puffed-out cheeks, long and slow, while pinching the bridge of his nose and sitting on the edge of his stupid trailer-sized bed. “He put me on a leash.”

“With a collar.”

“Yeah.” Even at the memory, Jensen could feel his face warming beet-red hot.

She was silent for a long beat - so long that Jensen was mouthing unformed words, trying to come up with something more to say on the subject - before she stated, “I’ll kill him. I’m-- Jensen, he’s--” she sighed, and Jensen relaxed and smiled a bit as he imagined her shaking her head and rolling her eyes the way she was almost certainly doing. “This Lucifer thing’s got him… well.”

“You don’t need to tell me, Vick, I see it every day.”

“I know.” There was a sound like a slamming cupboard door and Jensen settled on his back on his bed, one arm tucked behind his head as he relaxed further. Surely she was moving about the kitchen, putting together dinner for the kids - it was getting to be that time, but Jensen had too many knots in his stomach to be hungry. “What did you do?”

“Huh?”

“Well, you’re a real boy, Pinocchio, not a dress-up doll. I know you can speak up for yourself in a scene and interact with your partner and that you wouldn’t just let Misha dial it up to eleven without raising your voice. So when did you call it off?”

 _This_ was why he’d called her. He hadn’t even known it when he’d dialed the number on instinct, but this was exactly what he’d been looking for. She could sympathize and empathize but she wasn’t going to cut him any slack or let him play the victim, either. “He was, uh. Really keyed up when he came off set after that scene with Mark.”

“With the…”

“Right. I was in my trailer and he came in and just slammed into me with his face. Like he does sometimes, you know.” Weird, weird, weird it was still _weird_ , but yeah. She _did_ know. Of course she did.

“Uh huh.”

“All lips and teeth and just like…”

“Like he was trying to eat your face.” Her soft laugh pushed away all the rest of Jensen’s trepidation and he finally opened his eyes.

“And he was growling. I can’t even-- I’ve never seen him like this before, not when he’s Misha. That was… it was hot at first, I guess. He wanted me, obviously, and I had the time, so I broke away to lock the door and when I turned back around, there he was, all evil smiles, no shirt, holding a fucking collar and a leash.”

“And?”

“And? And what ‘and’? He arched that eyebrow up and there was no saying no.”

“But you hated it.”

“I called it about four minutes in. After he, uh. There was…” He wiped the back of his hand over his eyes and felt the embarrassment creeping back in. “More.”

“Toys.”

“C’mon, Vick, don’t make me relive it. I said I called it, OK? It wasn’t… Aaaaahhh fuck. Vick. It wasn’t hot, it wasn’t fun, it wasn’t sexy but fuck all of that. It wasn’t _Misha_.”

“Do you want me to talk to him?”

Jensen considered that. He bopped it around in his head for a minute… but it wouldn’t settle into place, and it didn’t feel right. “No. Like you said, I’m a real boy, and a big boy at that. I can confront my own boyfriend about our sex life.” He quipped it off with a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

“Let me know how it goes.”

“Sure thing. Hey. Thanks for the pep talk.”

“Anytime.” She ended the call and Jensen pocketed his phone before standing and running both hands through his hair.

“ _I can talk to my own boyfriend about our sex life_ ,” he muttered to himself as he leaned heavily against the counter of his kitchenette and drew several deep breaths. “Sure. Remember when you had just a wife and it was a really good thing and you had to Google ‘polyamory’ the first time Misha said it? _That guy_ wants to know what the fuck happened to you.” Except, he realized, that guy _knows_ . _That guy_ fell in love with his best friend. _That guy_ disappeared the second he got down on his knees and took that best friend’s cock in his mouth while their wives made out on the couch. He got lost in the melee of hormones and want and need and crossing off items on a bucket list of sexual gymnastics, but he was speaking up now, because _that guy_ was the voice at the back of Jensen’s mind who cared more about Misha than the loss of potentially really good sex.

And now _that guy_ wouldn’t shut up.

 _Go talk to him. Go talk to your best friend_.

“Yeah.” He nodded at _that guy_ , and strode out of his trailer and back toward Misha’s before he lost his nerve.

***

“Misha! Misha, I know you’re in there. Open up.”

“Go away.” The voice was low and muffled on the other side of the locked trailer door.

“No.” Jensen banged again for the fourth time, more insistently this time because he’d finally gotten a reply as confirmation of Misha’s presence inside. “We need to talk.”

No response.

Jensen sighed and banged one more time on the door. “All right, fine, you don’t wanna let me in, I’ll just stand out here and yell my piece for the whole world to hear.” He cleared his throat and raised his voice another notch, internally placing bets against himself about how far he’d get before Misha opened the door. “I fucking love you, you asshole. And I’m concerned about you, and it would be super great if you’d open the door so I wouldn’t have to shout to the universe exactly why that--”

The door creaked open, and Jensen smiled triumphantly even though Misha refused to meet his gaze.

“Get your ass in here.”

“Yes, Sir.” Jensen gave a mock two finger salute at the older man and bounced inside, noting that Misha immediately closed and locked the door again behind him. “Nice robe.”

“I couldn’t be in those clothes anymore.” He nodded at the pile of wardrobe -- Lucifer’s wardrobe -- on the trailer floor.

Jensen sighed and ran the cupped palm over his own mouth and chin. “Look, man. This is… I get it.”

“How can you possibly?”

“In case you haven’t been paying attention, we’ve all taken a spin or two around the dark side in the past 11 years. Christ, Mish, remember what a mess I was end of last year?”

“You locked yourself in your trailer for six hours. Then you cried in my arms and we had amazing sex and you promised over and over again that you’d never hurt me until we both believed it. But today I put you on a leash and if you hadn’t called ‘red’ I would’ve humiliated you, Jen, maybe worse. Do you know…” Misha clenched his fists at his sides while huffing on a breath. “I’ve scened in a dungeon, Jen. I’ve played the sadist. I’ve _been_ the sadist. You know… when I was training for this role, when I studied Mark, one of the things we did was role swap.” He sighed, seemingly calmer as he settled into his monologue, and motioned for Jensen to sit down. Not on his bed or in a chair, not even on the floor, but at a stool at the kitchenette, across the counter from the stool Misha pulled out for himself. Jensen accepted the invitation as his friend continued to speak. “I ran lines with him for the cage scene, except that he played Sam. And you know, when we were training like that, mostly it was me studying him. But there’s that line… _‘I could inflict such pure, perfect pain…’_ He locked eyes with Jensen. “ _He_ took that from _me_ . He said the way I said it was so… devious. So knowing. So naturally sadistic. And you know why that is? Because I _can_ . Because I _know how_ . Because I’ve _done it_. And I was going to do it to you. I was going to hurt and humiliate the fuck out of you and I don’t even know why.”

Jensen sat silently for a minute after Misha’s speech. He swiveled just barely side to side on the stool. He propped his chin on his right fist. He noticed the way Misha was looking everywhere but at him. “Do you still want to?”

“What?”

“Do you want to hurt me? Here, now. There’s darker stuff than this coming in the script this season, Mish, so I need to know.”

“No.”

“OK. And why not? What’s the difference between an hour ago… and now?”

“I’ve had time to… unwind. Relax. Step out of my character and back into me and Christ Almighty, J, this is the absurd kind of crap they teach in Acting 101. Why are we talking about it right now?”

“Because it seems to me like you need a refresher.” Jensen raised two pointed eyebrows and leaned forward, arms crossed on the edge of the counter in front of his body. “Look at me. Misha? Eyes up here. Look at me.” He waited - five seconds… ten - before Misha finally complied and he could stare into those endless pools of blue. Then he shook his head side to side very slowly, a tiny smile on his face as he said quietly, “I’m not mad at you.”

“I didn’t expect that you’d be angry. Just…”

“I’m not anything, Mish. Not disgusted, not put off, not-- OK, yeah. I was a little bit weirded out, but that’s only because you dove into something I wasn’t expecting and wasn’t ready for and even then, the weirdest part about it was that you weren’t _you_.”

“I… don’t…”

“We role play for a living. Sometimes all day, opposite each other, pretending to be friends and enemies and fucking subtext and I guess… when we come to this…” He reached cautiously across the counter with both hands to grab hold of both of Misha’s. When the gesture wasn’t rebuked, he started running his thumbs over Misha’s in tandem, slowly up to the nail and then back down again, in a calming repetitive motion. “Just bring me you. Even if it’s not right away. Even if you need some extra downtime first, fuck, Misha, just… take care of yourself first. And when you come to me, come to me alone.”

Misha was just staring at him, all confusion and lost-little-boy eyes, only given away in his maturity by the wrinkles at the corners of his eyes. Jensen was out of words, though, so they sat like that - hands in hands, eyes on eyes, under a blanket of steady silence, until Misha broke the monotony with a smile. It was small, no teeth, no anything really - but the corners of his perfect mouth were turned up, and Jensen would take that. He got up off his stool and came around the counter without letting go of the older man’s hands and when he was standing in front of Misha, he dipped his head for a tender kiss.

It was met in turn with equal tenderness; with a softness that hadn’t been there earlier. Jensen melted into that kiss. He melted into Misha; _this_ was Misha. This was everything Jensen loved about what they had. Sure, it was complex. Sure, it could be messy. Sure, it required a lot of communication and a lot of paying attention to public displays and a lot of things he wouldn’t have to worry about if he was just a man with just a wife.

But this kiss was so simple.

“So,” Jensen said when they parted, eyes hooded and voice a notch lower than it had been just minutes before, “You wanna try that again?”

“No.” Jensen’s brow creased in question. “Not that. But this…” Misha stood, putting them on equal footing, and embraced Jensen for a deeper kiss as he steered them toward his bed, “This. I want this.”

“Good, because I want _you_.”

“Not Lucifer?”

Jensen screwed up his face between kisses as he relaxed under Misha’s body weight. “He comes on a little strong for my tastes.” Another kiss, and roaming, searching hands, and bliss. Perfection. _See? I can talk to my own boyfriend about our relationship problems just fine_ , he thought to himself.

“And Misha?”

“Misha’s… mmmmm… Misha makes me forget my lines.”

“Guess you’ll just have to improvise.”

There weren’t any more words after that. Misha’s hands got insistently busy tugging at Jensen’s clothes, and his mouth went on an exploratory mission into the crook of Jensen’s neck that cut off any and all further communications.

Improvise.

 _If this is how we improvise_ , he thought, and it was really his last coherent thought for a good long while - _if this is how we improvise, we ought to do it every single day_.


End file.
